4 October 2002
Yesterday, I was a major bogon source.
I know that some of you don't know bogon/computron theory. So here goes. Mark explained this to me when we started dating. The universe is made up of computrons and bogons. Computrons make things work. Bogons make things break. If things appear to be breaking for no reason, you are probably around some kind of bogon source. Maybe you are a bogon source. This theory explained why Mark and his friend Tom could enter identical programs on identical computers, and Mark's would work and Tom's would break: Tom is a bogon source. Some people (like Tom) are always bogon sources. (Or he was in college, at least.) Sometimes it's a lot more variable, though.
So yesterday, I was emitting bogons like mad. I went to Kinko's. The copier broke in the middle of my use of it. It tried to instruct me in fixing itself (I love living in the future!), but the things it told me to pull on were stuck fast. Nobody seemed to want to help me, even after I asked and they said they would, so I switched copiers and left. The post office, if I recall correctly, was fine (more on that in a minute), but Target was not. How much of a brain does it take to triumph over Target? And yet the cart and I had to ride the escalator three different times, because people kept telling me things were in different places that they weren't. Also they had sent us a store coupon for a free 20 oz. Coke, and Timprov drinks Coke, so I was going to use it. I had to look in literally every cooler and soda-related display area in the store to find a 20 oz. bottle of Coke. I never did find protein cleaner for my lenses, which was the most urgent requirement I had at Target, but I did get an answering machine for us again. Woohoo.
So then I went to the library, and the self-check machine broke in the middle of my use of it. The grocery store was more or less all right, except the clerk appeared to be drunk and had a good deal of difficulty with the buy-one-get-one coupon on the hamburger, and the butcher called me sweetie, which would be fine if he'd been 55, but I estimate he was more like 27, so I was a little spooked. And by that point, it was 1:30 and I hadn't had lunch. Boom. Bogons everywhere. I did not wash the cutlery for fear of what bogon emission would do there.
I just haven't been hungry. I've been eating anyway, from time to time, and my body does seem to appreciate having fuel. But nothing sounds good. Even when it tastes good, I feel like my dog with dog food: it seems like a perfectly good option to just open my mouth and let the food fall out again, if it was in dry dog-food like chunks and wouldn't make a mess. I want to stress what I said above, there: I've been eating anyway. I know that if I showed up in Minnesota later this month weighing significantly less than I do now, I would receive What For, and in more than one sitting, even. (I don't think my mom would rely on C.J.'s helping of What For to be sufficient, for example. She would give me That Disappointed Mommy Look.) So you don't need to worry about that part. I'm eating. I just don't want to. I think I've wanted to eat precisely twice this week.
It's not that we're not making good stuff, either. Last night, Timprov and I collaborated on the salmon (cheaper than hamburger again!), and it had butter and lemon and dill and garlic and almonds and mozzarella and paprika. (Guess who added the paprika? Guess who added the dill?) And it was good. It tasted fine. I just didn't really want it. And then I made bomber bars so that Mark would feel welcomed home when he finally got back from work, and I didn't want any of the batter. And bomber batter is good stuff. So I don't know what's up with my stupid body. But it's not being agreeable in the eating sorts of ways. I'm going to make my Grandma's curry hotdish tonight, I think, and see if that appeals. Maybe lunch with David will be good. I don't know.
Well, lunch with David will be good, in the sense of being a fun time for both of us. Just not necessarily in the "me wanting to eat food" sense. That part's still up for grabs.
It is Sarah's birthday! Happy birthday to the Sarah! I'm glad we're sisters-in-law. I'm also glad you're celebrating all week. Everybody should get all week to celebrate. Go Sarah! I hope your birthday present has arrived, and also the card.
Oh, man, and I forgot one of the biggest bogon emissions of yesterday, too: the post office. So I sent out a package to my grandparents a month ago -- almost to the day a month ago, actually. It contained two copies apiece of my hardbound children's books on immigration. One copy of each book was lovingly and carefully autographed for them. The other was a backup copy. There was also a nice letter. I may not count these when I say how many books I've written, but they're my books, I got paid money for them, and there they are, published. So the post office ripped the package apart, essentially, and found the mailing label with my return address on it. They wrote to me and asked me if I wanted them to search the warehouses for the package's contents, and if so I was to describe them in detail. Sigh. ARGH. So I will indeed describe them in detail (how many copies of The Chinese Americans and The Jewish Americans could be in their lost stuff warehouse, anyway?), but I have very little hope that my books are anywhere that they can be located intact. Stupid post orifice.
Right now I'm leaning towards bringing my remaining copy of each book to Grandma and Grandpa when I see them at the end of the month. I mean, I already know what it says, and it doesn't seem sensible that Grandma and Grandpa would have to pay extra money for books that they already bought and the post office lost for them. On the other hand, I'm just mad. I wrote those books, and Grandma bought her copies, and when I pay to send a package, that package should arrive. Dammit.
It also makes me very suspicious of the fact that I've only gotten one rejection letter this week. What else are they doing with my stuff?
Ah well. I get to write the scene where Ansa (yesterday's Karelian) has to deal politely with the local KGB agent. Fun for the whole family. Well, fun for me now. Fun for the rest of the family when they read it, I hope. I also got Nicola Griffith's Stay from the library, and I'm sure I'll finish it today, probably on the train up to David's. It's the sequel to The Blue Place, and it picked up emotionally where The Blue Place left off, which I like a lot: the actions of that book are too intense and violent to be written off with "and now after several months of healing, she feels better and ready to do the next thing, skippedy doo tra la." I really, really loved The Blue Place. (It's recommended!) I don't love Stay quite so much, and I don't think it's just the simple fact that there's less Norway and less ScanAm stuff. That does play into it, though. The scenes in Norway were really well done. I'll still want to buy my own copy of this eventually, and I'm looking forward to finishing it.
All right, well, the day's agenda awaits. Have a good Friday.
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